


More than willing to offer myself (Or: Miscommunication and Feet)

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: Rain Down On Me [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (for certain definitions of first time), First Time, Foot Fetish, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Miscommunication, Sexual Inexperience, Unreliable Narrator, i have a thing for viktor's thing for kneeling, in which viktor discovers he has a foot fetish (about a month after yuri discovers the same)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10031810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: The kissing thing is still new enough to drive all thought of packing, and training, out of Viktor’s head for a few minutes, though. They really haven’t had nearly enough time: a few days snatched between the Cup of China and the Rostelcom, a few weeks between that and the Final. Not enough compared to a winter of missing Yuri and wanting, and a summer of having him in arm’s reach and still wanting more.The thing is, Viktor knows it’s not enough time for Yuri, not enough time in other ways: not enough time to have built confidence in himself. Not enough time to really trust Viktor. Not enough time, perhaps, to have figured out what he wants at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dance_across](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/gifts).



> Many thanks to saraaah for staying up to Stupid AM to edit for me! <3 you; get more sleep.
> 
> Presented, with a flourish, to dance_across, who recently completed one of my most favourite fics ever on the theme of sexual inexperience and Viktor's vulnerabilities. [Go read it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9838433/chapters/22082807). 
> 
> A-title from Crowded House's 'Fall at Your Feet'. B-title purely descriptive.
> 
> Further notes at the end.

Time is never on their side. Three days ago, Viktor had a plan: it involved spending the weeks between the GPF and Yuri’s Nationals mostly in bed. Now that he thinks about it, that was a stupid plan: Yuri still has to train. And even discarding that, Yuri is reluctant to spend entire days in bed, possibly because of the absolute certainty that his family would know exactly where they were and more or less what they were doing. And possibly because he's worried about what Viktor might want from him, but in that respect he has nothing to worry about- Viktor is determined not to push. It's just that three days ago his plan for after the GPF had been to spend entire days not pushing, taking whatever Yuri is ready to give him and really enjoying it.

Now, of course, Viktor has all of two days in Hasetsu to pack up his things- including last year’s costumes, because he’s got to resurrect last season’s exhibition as a free program. He hopes like hell he can pull a short routine together from next to nothing. There’s a non-zero chance this will be its only outing for the season, anyway: the FFK has more young blood coming up than just Yuri Plisetsky, and there are others than just Georgi who’ve been lurking in Viktor’s shadow for years. 

‘I’m coming to the Euros,’ Yuri says. He looks like he’s afraid Viktor will say no. As if Viktor could. 

‘Wait and see if I qualify,’ Viktor says, and Yuri catches his hand and kisses the knuckles of it. He’s got a suitcase open on his floor, and every item he picks up he puts back down again. His apartment in Saint Petersburg has hardly anything left in it, but he hates the thought of taking anything, even clothes, back there. He’d been hoping to go back this summer and clear the place out for good. 

‘I believe in you,’ Yuri says, and Viktor knows that that’s as good as _I love you_ , coming from Yuri. It’s Yuri offering back to him what he needs most himself. 

‘I feel awful about missing your Nationals,’ Viktor says, deflecting attention back to Yuri.

Yuri gives him an uncharacteristically serene smile. ‘I’ll be okay,’ he says, and kisses Viktor’s ring again. ‘You’ll be watching, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ Viktor promises. The time difference means that even with the worst of luck, even on the days the two competitions overlap, they will never be on the ice at the exact same time. 

‘That’s all I need,’ Yuri says, and he seems to believe it. Viktor wants to believe him, but he knows what Nationals were like for Yuri last year, and he hates, hates leaving Yuri alone with his demons.

‘Take Makkachin,’ Viktor says.

‘What?’ Yuri blinks at him. ‘Take… what?’

‘Take Makkachin. I don’t want to put her through the international move again so soon, not when I’ll be coming back here anyway…’

Yuri looks utterly flabbergasted. More so than when Viktor had declared them engaged, in fact. His mouth hangs open, and he tries, and fails, to say something.

‘Yuri? Did I say something wrong?’

‘You’re… coming back here?’

‘Of course,’ Viktor says. ‘I mean, one, if I come in less than third at Nationals, I won’t _have_ any major competitions for the rest of the season.’

‘And if you do?’

Viktor finds himself biting his lip. ‘I… haven’t talked about this with Yakov,’ he says, all in a rush, ‘but not everyone has to be with their coach all the time! Look at Phichit, he was training in Bangkok this summer. Altin’s coach flies in to work with him for a few weeks at a time, I think.’

Yuri nods, solemn. ‘I thought… I thought we’d do something like that.’ He sounds slightly disappointed, but he can’t honestly have thought he and Viktor could stay together all the time. Not unless they hired a new coach together, which isn’t the worst idea in the world, but can hardly be arranged in time for Nationals.

‘I’m pretty sure I can convince Yakov,’ Viktor says. He’s pretty sure he can convince Yakov by selling Yakov his soul in terms of choreography for Plisetsky and anyone else Yakov sees fit to name; and then he may have to actually bribe someone from the FFK, but as long as it gets him what he wants, he doesn’t care. He’d choreograph the entire damn senior division if it lets him keep Yuri.

‘But then,’ Yuri says, and sets his jaw determinedly, ‘you should take Makkachin. You live alone, you need the company.’

‘Flying a dog back and forth for a few weeks at a time is ridiculous, even for me,’ Viktor says. He picks up something that turns out to be a sweater, out of the nearest drawer. He hasn’t worn it since he got here, and he’s not sure why.

‘Viktor,’ Yuri says, voice cracking. Viktor looks up at him, suddenly conscious that something’s not quite right. ‘Viktor, what are you talking about?’

‘About… training?’ Viktor hazards. ‘About getting Yakov to let me fly in for a couple of weeks at a time, and then I come back here, to you. Or meet you at competitions, but mostly here...’

At about this point, he’s knocked backwards onto the floor by Yuri, who has launched himself off the bed and into Viktor’s arms. Viktor isn’t objecting to this, by any means, but he’s not sure what he’s done to get his face covered in kisses and Yuri plastered up against him. If he knew, he’d do it more often. Twice a day, preferably. (Except for those weeks where he has to be in Russia. Damn. What on earth was he thinking?)

‘Yuri,’ he says, and he really hates doing it, but he has to pull Yuri back a bit. ‘Yuri, what did you think I was talking about?’

Yuri opens his mouth. Closes it again. Gets that determined look in his face. ‘I would come with you to Russia,’ he says. ‘I would. I will. Or,’ he swallows. ‘If you think it’s better, I can fly in to you.’

Holy hell. Viktor has to grab him and squeeze the daylights out of him, because, one he loves Yuri so much it hurts, and two, Yuri is so damn stupid sometimes that that hurts, too.

‘Yuri,’ he says, ‘would you be happy in Russia?’

‘I’d be happy with you,’ Yuri insists.

‘Well, I’m happy _here_ ,’ Viktor says, and the absolute truth of that rocks him for a moment. He’s been thinking of it mostly in terms of Yuri: he’s happy when Yuri is happy, and it’s perfectly clear to him that Yuri is happy in his home, with his home rink and his family and his friends around him. But Viktor: Viktor is happy here, too. ‘And,’ he adds, because it’s true and he’s fairly sure Yuri won’t argue with it like he will with most things, ‘so is Makkachin. So she’s staying here-’ Viktor is presuming on the Katsuki’s hospitality, dog-wise, but he knows Mari loves the poodle like… well, probably like she loved Yuri’s poodle who died- ‘and you should take her to Nationals. Or get Minako to bring her, find a pet-friendly hotel for them to stay in.’

Yuri just stares at him for a second, and then kisses Viktor like he’s about to disappear. Which, Viktor concedes, he is, for values of ‘disappear’ that include ‘vanish back to Russia for the world’s most ill-conceived short-notice intensive training period’.

The kissing thing is still new enough to drive all thought of packing, and training, out of Viktor’s head for a few minutes, though. They really haven’t had nearly enough time: a few days snatched between the Cup of China and the Rostelcom, a few weeks between that and the Final. Not enough compared to a winter of missing Yuri and wanting, and a summer of having him in arm’s reach and still wanting more.

The thing is, Viktor knows it’s not enough time for Yuri, not enough time in other ways: not enough time to have built confidence in himself. Not enough time to really trust Viktor. Not enough time, perhaps, to have figured out what he wants at all. There have been moments in there… nights like the one after the gala in China, or before the competition in Russia, where Yuri nestled up against him has turned into Yuri jerking himself off in Viktor’s arms, all minimal movements and quiet gasping breaths. He hasn’t asked Viktor to touch him, and Viktor hasn’t pushed. A few times he’s got himself off while Yuri held him in turn, and that’s been… actually kind of terrifying, because Viktor, as a policy, treats sex as primarily about the person he’s having it with. You can’t check in afterwards and say ‘how was that for you? Can I do anything more?’ when all you’ve done is let yourself be petted and cradled and jerked yourself off like you would at home. That hasn’t stopped Yuri murmuring in Viktor’s ear that he’s beautiful and Yuri is going to remember this, remember watching Viktor come, for as long as he lives.

Now that he thinks about it - insofar as he can think about it, pressed flat on the floor and being kissed out of his wits - Viktor realises what Yuri thought he was saying, there. He was waiting for Viktor to up and leave, and promising (himself, Viktor) he’d have that memory to hold onto.

Fuck. Viktor really fucking loves him, but Yuri Katsuki is an idiot.

And Viktor is, in fact, going to up and leave, even if only for a few weeks. Damn.

‘Off,’ he mutters, shoving at Yuri’s shirt. There needs to be less fabric between them, that’s for certain. Yuri sits up, straddled across Viktor’s hips, hair all in disarray, and looks down at him. He peels the shirt off, with just a bit more dramatic flair than is really necessary. Viktor checks him out, with just a little more obviousness than is really necessary, and Yuri’s face breaks out into an absolutely perfect smile, half-shy, half-mischievous, that Viktor has definitely got to find ways of eliciting again.

Yuri bends down to kiss him again, and Viktor stops him with a palm flat across Yuri’s stomach.

‘No,’ he says. ‘Let me… look at you.’ Yuri’s brow furrows a little, and Viktor slides his palm up, settling on the warm spot beneath Yuri’s ribs. ‘I want…’ he has a flash of inspiration, grabs Yuri’s hand in his free one, and kisses the ring on it. ‘If I’m going away, I have to get my looking at you in now.’

‘That’s… fair,’ Yuri says, and he doesn’t look as self-conscious as Viktor thought he might. Then he bites his lip, unbearably attractive doing so, and says in a rush, ‘I was planning on calling you. We can use video chat.’

‘Were you planning to call me shirtless?’ Viktor asks, leering for dramatic effect.

Yuri flushes. ‘I could,’ he says. There’s an awkward silence while Viktor’s brain skips a gear. ‘If you wanted me to,’ Yuri adds. 

‘I.’ Viktor swallows. ‘You don’t have to, I was…’

‘Joking,’ Yuri says, a little flat.

Viktor scrambles to sit up and kiss him, almost dumping Yuri off his lap in the process. ‘Yuri,’ he says, arms locked around Yuri’s waist, ‘please, I want you to call me, and yes, I want to see your face. I will stare at your face like Makkachin stares at sausages she wants and cannot have -’ here, Yuri snorts, undignified, which means Viktor has achieved his primary goal of cheering him up. ‘And,’ Viktor adds, ‘if you _want_ to call me with your shirt off I will not complain.’

Yuri takes the opportunity to grab the back of Viktor’s t-shirt and yank it up. Viktor isn’t quite expecting it, and hasn’t let go of Yuri, and ends up with the t-shirt stuck over his face. It is at this point that Yuri says,

‘Here’s a deal, Viktor. You call me with no shirt on, and I’ll call _you_ with no shirt on.’

‘Deal,’ Viktor says, extricating himself from the shirt. ‘Absolutely a deal, where do I sign?’

‘Idiot,’ Yuri mutters, and kisses him again. This time with the added bonus of bare skin to bare skin, Yuri’s palms on Viktor’s back, one of Viktor’s in Yuri’s hair and the other tracing out the terrain of his chest. Memorising. Committing to memory the pattern of muscles, tangible evidence of a season’s hard work; and more importantly, the texture of Yuri’s skin and the way his breath hitches when Viktor’s thumb brushes over one nipple.

The thing is, Viktor wants Yuri so damn much. Not just in the sense that he wants to fuck, although yeah, that’d be great. He wants to plaster himself up against Yuri and just… stay there. Forever. If he were another sort of man entirely, maybe he’d prostrate himself at Yuri’s feet and recite a panegyric in his honour. Unfortunately, Viktor has always been shit at poetry, even in Russian. All he’s got is choreography, and that, too, has its limits: nothing he composes for Yuri could ever match the skating Yuri can put together when he’s truly himself. Part of Viktor thinks if he returns to the ice, at least he’ll have that: he can make his body carve out a work of art that might, just maybe, come near to expressing everything Yuri means to him.

Problem is, that means leaving Yuri for whole weeks at a time. Viktor knows other people do this all the time. He has every intention of making it work. But fuck, he doesn’t want to leave Yuri’s side, especially not right now, not when everything’s so new and fragile.

‘I’m going to miss you,’ he mutters, into Yuri’s neck. Yuri laughs, shudders at the feeling of Viktor’s breath on his skin, and kisses him again.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘I will think about you every day.’

‘Think about me how?’ Viktor asks, pulling back a little. It’s not that he objects to this, he just wants to know, wants _more_.

‘Every way I can,’ Yuri says. Flushes, a second later, as the implication catches up with him. And then he wriggles, pushing his hips down into Viktor’s, so that Viktor has to bite back a moan and work hard to stop himself from grabbing Yuri and adjusting him properly so they can grind off against each other. ‘Like this particularly,’ Yuri says, and leans in to lick at Viktor’s ear.

Viktor clutches at him. No one could blame him for what he asks next, and he’s only asking, not making a demand of it or anything.

‘Yuri, please,’ he says, shuddering underneath Yuri’s body. ‘Please, will you let me touch you?’

Yuri goes still for a moment, and Viktor’s heart turns over.

‘You don’t have to,’ he says, hastily. ‘I just thought…’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Yuri says, with an odd sort of all-over quiver. ‘Yes, please.’ 

Viktor has to kiss him, wrap both hands around his face and kiss him long and hard and try to telegraph thereby just how much he _loves_ Yuri.

‘You’re sure?’ Viktor asks, and Yuri nods, again with that determined look.

‘Yeah.’ A tiny little smile flickers on his face. ‘It’ll be something to think about, won’t it?’

Viktor can’t quite bring himself to do it, though. He’s put his hand down a fair few people’s pants, in his time, but something about shoving his palm into Yuri’s sweatpants and bringing him off quickly just seems… wrong. 

‘Viktor?’ Yuri’s looking at him funny. ‘What’s wrong?’ Then, the thought evidently occurring to him all of a sudden. ‘ _You_ don’t have to, if you don’t… want. Or not now. Or… I don’t know?’

‘Can I… Can we take your clothes off, first?’

They’ve been naked together before. It’s a basic fact of using the hot springs, for a start. And there have been those times when one or other of them has jerked off in the other’s arms - mostly those have been naked. Sometimes, when Yuri’s exhausted, Viktor peels his clothes off and just tucks himself around him, stroking his back until they’re both asleep (at which point, Viktor thrashes around and sprawls all over the bed; it’s a hazard that Yuri is apparently willing to put up with).

‘Of course,’ Yuri says, and clambers to his feet. And stands there. He looks down at Viktor with an expression that says, pretty clearly, _well, then? Get on with it._ Viktor scrambles to his knees, and slips his thumbs into the waistband of Yuri’s pants. It’s not much work to slide them down - and holy hell, Yuri is not, in fact, wearing underwear. 

It’s possible Viktor completely loses time, stuck with his hands in Yuri’s pants, which are now halfway down Yuri’s thighs. He could probably have figured out that Yuri had no underpants on, if he’d been paying attention, but to be perfectly honest he’d been too busy enjoying the feeling of Yuri’s cock pressed up against him to actually count the layers in between.

‘Problem?’ Yuri asks. Viktor’s not sure how long he’s been staring at Yuri’s cock. Which, he reminds himself, he has seen before. It’s a perfectly nice cock, in all its states, and Viktor has managed not to completely lose his senses, or to fall at Yuri’s feet begging to be allowed to suck it, so far. Now would be a bad time to break that record.

‘Nope,’ Viktor says, and goes back to removing Yuri’s pants. He kisses the side of one knee as it appears, and then waits for Yuri to lift each foot in turn. 

Successfully de-pantsed, Yuri looks down at him for a second, and touches his hand to the not-yet-balding patch on the top of Viktor’s head. It’s sweet, and Viktor thinks maybe Yuri finds it grounding, a touch like that that goes back further in their relationship than kissing or jerking off or possibly-sex.

‘Bed,’ Yuri says, stepping back and extending a hand to Viktor. Fair enough, Viktor thinks. No one wants their first time (he’s _fairly_ sure this is Yuri’s first time) to be on the floor between a suitcase and a dresser. He scrambles to his feet and takes Yuri’s hand. Yuri leads him to the bed and pulls him down, kisses him some more. Viktor’s stuck between feeling like he ought to be doing more - taking charge, making things okay - and really, really not wanting to fuck things up by pushing too far or too fast.

Eventually, Yuri takes one of Viktor’s hands and guides it to his cock, which is certainly one way of fixing the problem.

To Viktor’s surprise, and entirely to his delight, Yuri is _talkative_. He’s never been like this when he’s been getting himself off in Viktor’s arms: then, he’s all economy and reserve. Now, though, Viktor settles his hand around Yuri’s shaft, getting a feel for it, and Yuri wriggles with pleasure, flings one arm over his eyes, and gives Viktor a constant patter of feedback. Yes, it’s good. Just a bit harder. Faster. Touch Yuri’s nipple with his other hand.

Fucking _hell_. Viktor’s brain short-circuits, trying to shed its previous assumptions about coaxing Yuri through new experiences, and replacing them with _holy fuck this is hot as hell_. Before he’s quite adjusted, Yuri’s patter of feedback dries up with a choked ‘oh,’ and a couple of words Viktor doesn’t catch. He’s still pretty quiet when he comes, actually, but his whole body arches and his movements are more extravagant than when he's doing the work himself. And he recovers surprisingly quickly afterwards, grabbing at Viktor and pulling him down to be kissed. Viktor tries, for about a second, to do something with the mess on his hand before it gets smeared everywhere, and has to settle for smearing it onto the sheets instead of all over Yuri. (And instead of licking it up. Alas.)

‘Mmph,’ Yuri says, into the kiss. And then, ‘Mrrgh.’ 

Viktor decides to pull away and give him a chance to speak, in case it was something important. 

Yuri blinks up at him and then says, ‘Fucking hell, Viktor, why haven’t we been doing this every day for the past month?’

‘Um.’ Viktor says.

‘No, it’s okay,’ Yuri says, before Viktor can come up with an answer. ‘I understand. It’s just. Wow. Okay. I’m going to think about that _really hard_ the whole time you’re away.’ And he leers slightly at Viktor.

Viktor can’t help grinning back at him. ‘Please do.’ He sits back onto his heels, to get a better view. Yuri, sprawled out on Viktor’s bed (well, Viktor’s bed in Yuri’s parents’ inn, but right now, he likes it a lot better than he likes the thought of his bed in Saint Petersburg), rumple-haired and glowing like a man who’s just had an excellent orgasm, and it’s Viktor’s doing.

‘What would you like now?’ Yuri asks. Viktor hesitates. Yuri wriggles around and plunks his feet in Viktor’s lap, like Viktor’s a footstool. It’s kind of insulting and also kind of adorable.

Hell. Viktor wants so many things, he can’t really separate any of them out in his mind, let alone figure out which ones are okay to ask for. He kneads the balls of Yuri’s feet while he thinks.

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘We don’t have to…’

‘Nothing,’ Yuri says, and arches his foot a little. ‘Well, if nothing gets me foot rubs...’

Viktor has to laugh. ‘You can have foot rubs any time you like, you know that.’ He thinks about it for a second. ‘Unless you’re actually supposed to be skating, I guess.’

‘Mmm,’ Yuri agrees. ‘Harder, then.’

‘Demanding,’ Viktor says, as if this is news, and digs his thumbs into the arches of Yuri’s feet.

‘You like it,’ Yuri says, around another moan. ‘Lower down on the left one,’ he says. 

Holy hell. Viktor has been giving Yuri massages, on and off, for a while now. At first for an excuse to touch him, and then because Yuri turns out to carry ten times more stress than anyone whose muscle tension Viktor’s ever had cause to inspect, professionally or otherwise. And then because Yuri admitted that he almost never gets massage therapy or anything done, because he hates having strangers touch him, and the fact that he doesn’t count Viktor in that category makes Viktor’s heart go flip-flop every damn time. So Viktor is used to the way Yuri reacts, and Yuri is used to what Viktor can do, and he gives constant feedback, in words or moans or gestures, adjusting Viktor’s ministrations to exactly his needs. And Viktor is completely used to this, except: holy hell. This is exactly how Yuri responded to a handjob.

It’s not that touching Yuri is not always, to some degree, arousing to Viktor. It’s just that usually he has a better handle on himself than he does right now, already more than half hard from watching Yuri come under Viktor’s hands. Fuck. Viktor would rub Yuri’s feet - his legs, his back, anything - any time Yuri wanted (saving the previous exception about necessary skating time), but this is positively unfair. Viktor’s as hard as he’s ever been, still in his pants, kneeling on Yuri’s bed, kneading Yuri’s bruised feet with his hands. If Yuri didn’t _want_ Viktor aroused, he thinks, he should’ve, oh, maybe let Viktor get off first?

And then Yuri slips one foot out of Viktor’s grip, and presses his heel into Viktor’s crotch.

‘Fuck!’ Viktor says. ‘Yuri, what?’

‘Nothing,’ Yuri says, slyly, and rubs his foot up against Viktor’s dick. And then he adds, ‘Don’t stop with the left one,’ wriggling his toes under Viktor’s hand.

Somehow, that does it: the combination of the pressure, the utterly unfair demand, and the whole resemblance of this foot-rubbing situation to the cock-rubbing situation of minutes before is too much, and Viktor comes all in a rush, digging his fingers hard into Yuri’s left foot and swearing some very specific expletives that, thankfully, Yuri doesn’t know because they’re in Russian.

It takes a moment to get his brain back in line, and then Viktor feels terrible.

‘Oh, hell, Yuri,’ he says, ‘I’m… I’m sorry, that was…’ He’s not really sure what it was. Part of him is still pretty sure that if Yuri didn’t want him coming in his pants like a damn teenager, he shouldn’t have fucking well demanded a massage and enjoyed it so… vocally, when Viktor was already hard.

Yuri stares at him for a second, and then pulls both of his feet away. Viktor feels sort of bereft.

‘Viktor,’ Yuri says, sitting up. ‘What are you apologising for?’

‘Um.’ Viktor tries to gather his wits. ‘I didn’t. I should’ve… asked. Before.’ Before turning this into a sex thing, he means.

Yuri frowns at him. ‘Asked... to come?’ He blinks. ‘I mean, yeah, okay, we can do that, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting you _not_ to. Did I do something that made you think we were…’ he makes a vague gesture. ‘Doing that?’

Viktor has the dawning feeling that what just happened happened very differently in Yuri’s head compared to his. ‘Doing… what?’ he asks.

Yuri’s face goes bright red. ‘Orgasm… denial?’ he tries. ‘Or permission, or… whatever.’

Viktor has to take a moment to mentally pinch himself. Yes. They are having this conversation. Okay. 

‘I mean,’ Yuri says, words falling out of his mouth in a rush, ‘we can do that, if you like, that’s… I can do that, but I mean, I need to know what I did to start it.’ He bites his lip for a second, and then says, ‘I don’t want you to feel _bad_.’

‘Yuri,’ Viktor says. He reaches out and catches Yuri’s feet again, because they’re the closest bit of him. ‘Wait a minute. Can you tell me… what you think just happened?’

‘Which bit?’

‘All of it?’

‘Well,’ Yuri says, still looking anxious. ‘You gave me a handjob, which was great, by the way, do that again any time, and then you didn’t seem to want the same, but you like my feet, so… I gave you my feet?’ Viktor’s pretty sure he’s gaping at Yuri now, but he hasn’t actually got a response to that, so Yuri goes on. ‘And then you were really into it, and I wanted to see you get off, so I thought… maybe my foot? And I probably should’ve asked.’ Viktor keeps gaping. ‘Only then you apologised so I thought maybe you were apologising for coming, like you thought you weren’t supposed to unless I said? But by the way you’re looking at me,’ Yuri finishes, all in a rush, ‘I am so far off-base it’s not funny, and excuse me, I’m going to die of embarrassment now.’ He covers his face with his hands.

‘You.’ Viktor looks at his hands, which are wrapped around Yuri’s ankles. ‘Your feet?’

‘You like my feet,’ Yuri says. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Yes?’ Viktor hazards. ‘I mean. As far as feet go. They’re yours. I like you.’

‘As far as feet go,’ Yuri says, faintly. ‘Viktor, do you think _I_ have a thing about feet?’

‘Well, I didn’t until now,’ Viktor says. ‘I mean. It’s okay if you do. I can work with that.’

‘Viktor.’ Yuri takes his hands away from his face, and wraps one around Viktor’s wrist. ‘You _kissed my skates on television_.’

‘Oh. That.’ Viktor tries to remember why he’d done that. It was probably because Yuri had threatened to murder him if he kissed him on camera again without warning, and kissing the skates isn’t technically kissing _Yuri_.

‘You kneel down and lace up my skates! Sometimes you put my skate guards on, even when there’s no one else around! You give me foot massages _all the time_!’ Yuri waves his free hand sort of wildly, for emphasis.

‘Should I stop?’ Viktor really has no idea what’s going on here. ‘Have I been… creeping you out?’

‘NO!’ Yuri actually shouts that, and then snaps his jaw shut abruptly. ‘No,’ he says, more quietly. ‘I just thought… we had a thing. With you, and my skates and the foot massages and whatever. I’m sorry.’

‘Did you… like the thing?’ Viktor asks.

‘Did you?’

Viktor thinks about this for a second. ‘Yes?’ He did. He likes all the things he and Yuri have, all the little codes and signals: the touches to his head, the ‘look at me and only me’, the rings… all of it.

‘Okay then.’ Yuri draws a deep breath. ‘But I shouldn’t have… tried to get you off. Okay. Sorry.’ He closes his eyes for a second. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For…’ Yuri hesitates. ‘For touching me. I… I really liked that.’

‘Any time you like,’ Viktor says. And then remembers. ‘Unless I’m in Russia, I guess. Damnit.’

‘This sucks,’ Yuri says, and leans in close enough to kiss Viktor properly. Viktor gives up and clambers right into Yuri’s lap. His own come is going sticky in his pants: he should really deal with that, but he doesn’t care enough right now. Yuri wraps his arms around Viktor and Viktor puts his face into Yuri’s neck and they just breathe, for a minute.

Then the part of Viktor’s brain that’s still freaking out over the nearly-argument he still doesn’t understand picks up something he’d missed.

‘What do you mean, Yuri, I don’t want the same?’ he asks, into Yuri’s neck.

‘You didn’t… want me to touch you.’ Yuri says. ‘Which is okay! It’s okay for now, it’s okay if it’s forever, I just thought… maybe the foot thing was something you did want.’

‘I didn’t…’ Viktor has to draw back far enough to stare at him. ‘When… what did I say wrong?’

Yuri shakes his head. ‘You didn’t,’ he says. ‘It’s not _wrong_ , anyway.’

‘But you think I don’t want you to touch me.’

‘You said “nothing”,’ Yuri says.

‘Oh.’ Viktor thinks about that. ‘I didn’t… I didn’t _need_... I don’t want you to feel like I’m putting pressure on you. I mean. I never asked to touch you, before now, either.

Yuri gives him a considering look. ‘Yes, and I thought that meant you didn’t want to. Or you weren’t ready. Or,’ and here his voice cracks a little, ‘you thought I wasn’t… wasn’t something.’

‘Oh, fuck,’ Viktor says, and it’s his turn to knock Yuri flat, because there’s really no way to respond to that other than to wrap as much of himself around Yuri as he can, all at once. ‘No. Fuck, no, Yuri, _never_ think you aren’t enough for me.’

Yuri lets himself be kissed for a bit, and then shoves Viktor until they’re lying face to face on their sides. 

‘You wanted to,’ he says, sounding stunned. ‘You want me to touch you, but you didn’t ask.’

‘I didn’t… want you to feel uncomfortable,’ Viktor says. Now that they’re at this end of the conversation, it sounds rather stupid.

‘All those times I’ve jerked off with you,’ Yuri says, ‘you wanted to touch me?’

‘Every time,’ Viktor says. And then he has to close his eyes for a second against the memory of how he _did_ touch Yuri just now, and it was fucking amazing. ‘So much,’ he adds. ‘And… more?’

‘Fuck,’ Yuri says. ‘Why couldn’t you have said so _more than a day before you have to leave_?’

‘Well. You didn’t ask either,’ Viktor points out.

Yuri nuzzles into Viktor’s shoulder. ‘We’re idiots,’ he says. 

‘For the record-’ Viktor kisses the top of Yuri’s head- ‘I really liked jerking you off. I love the way you talked to me through it. I love the way you look when you come, and I will definitely be thinking about this for weeks.’

Yuri laughs into Viktor’s skin. ‘Well, for the record,’ he says, ‘you look pretty good when you come from just my foot.’

That sends a flush right from Viktor’s face down to his gut. ‘Oh, crap,’ he says. ‘I do have a thing for feet, don’t I?’

‘I think so.’ Yuri twines their fingers together. ‘Just _my_ feet, though.’

‘Yeah, alright.’

Viktor needs to pack. And he needs to get out of his sticky underwear. He’s going to do neither: he’s going to lie here cuddling Yuri until either they fall asleep, or a sufficient period of time has passed as to allow them to try the whole mutual handjobs thing again. Actually mutually, this time.

‘Viktor?’ Yuri sounds… sort of hesitant. Viktor wriggles a bit so he can see his face properly. ‘Can I come and visit you? In Russia. If you’re going to be there for a few weeks at a time, can I come and stay with you some of the time?’

Viktor thinks, for about half a second, of all the nuisances that will entail: getting Yuri rink time on an ad-hoc basis. Fitting Yuri’s training around Viktor working with Yakov. Yuri finding out that Viktor can’t cook, not at all, not to save his life.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Oh, hell, yes, Yuri, please.’

‘Good,’ Yuri says, and kisses Viktor’s shoulder. ‘Now, get up and pack your suitcases; you’re supposed to be a responsible adult.’

**Author's Note:**

> Further notes: HEY LOOK, I CAN SO WRITE MONOGAMOUS PAIRINGS. 
> 
> Ahem. I'm faaairly sure there's nothing troublesome in here (aside from the basic power balance thing that's always in flux between Viktor and Yuri, which is vr much what this fic is about, but I assume if you read the summary you're Here For That), but as usual, am not a mind-reader and so I cannot guarantee that I have forseen every possible squick or trigger. If that's not a risk you're willing to take, don't read in the first place.
> 
> Also as usual, I love comments, but please do not come in here to yell at me if my fic clashes with your headcanon. You can come and *ask* me why I've characterised certain characters certain ways, and I will probably tell you! Be nice, folks.


End file.
